


Milk

by daleksanddetectives



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Mini Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleksanddetectives/pseuds/daleksanddetectives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock makes the survival of his fall known to John, he’s greeted by a long string of creative swears and a look in John’s eyes that suggests that he might want to throttle him.<br/>“I had a feeling you wouldn’t take this well, so I brought a peace offering.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sherlock Mini Bang 2013](http://sherlockminibang.tumblr.com/) to go with mindvillain's artwork [here](http://mindvillain.tumblr.com/post/71722379616/for-the-sherlock-mini-bang#notes).

When Sherlock makes the survival of his fall known to John, he’s greeted by a long string of creative swears and a look in John’s eyes that suggests that he might want to throttle him.

He finds John looking through some paperwork in the living room. John’s head whips towards the door when he hears footsteps in the hallway, _obviously not expecting anyone_ , Sherlock thinks. He watches John’s eyes widen with realisation and clears his throat, “hello, John.”

“You were dead.”

“Apparently not.”

“No, Sherlock. You can’t just… _pretend_ to be dead for two years and then waltz back in expecting people to be okay with it.”

John marches into the kitchen, throwing his papers onto his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. He folds his arms and leans against the counter watching Sherlock pad through after him, almost looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“John, I,” he starts.

“What?” John snaps.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t take this well, so I brought a peace offering.” Sherlock fiddles with a button on his coat and shuffles his feet.

John rubs his hands over his face, “I don’t want your bloody—”

Sherlock is suddenly clutching a carton of milk.

“Truce?” he says, shyly tucking his chin into the folds of his scarf and holding the carton out to John. After a few seconds he sighs and rolls his eyes, “John, close your mouth, you look like an idiot.”

“I,” John flexes his jaw, “you bought milk.”

“I thought it might… soften the blow.”

“You _bought_ the _milk_ ,” John starts to laugh, shaking his head, “I can’t believe you.”

Sherlock smiles at the familiarity of John’s laughter. John sinks down into one of the table chairs and leans forward on his elbows. He rests his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, his laughter starting to border on hysteric.

“Where were you hiding that?” He giggles.

Sherlock shrugs, “my coat has surprisingly large pockets.”

John snorts and leans back in his chair, “so, are you going to explain why you had to play dead for two years? Since you brought milk I promise not to punch you.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Sherlock moves to sit opposite John at the table, but John waves a finger at him.

“Ah ah,” he points at the kettle, “make yourself useful and make some tea with that milk and _then_ we can talk.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes and turns to flick the kettle on, “I assume you haven’t moved anything?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can deduce it if I have.”

He throws John a withering look and begins the motions of making tea. He finds the mugs and tea bags in their familiar places and pours the water, hoping John hadn’t changed how he takes his tea in the last couple of years. John’s mug gets a splash of milk and Sherlock’s gets two heaps of sugar and a centimetre of milk.

“Always knew you could do it,” John grins, accepting the mug and taking a sip and hums with satisfaction, “you make a good cuppa, Sherlock, you’re not getting out of this again.”

“You’re okay with me coming back?” Sherlock looks up from his drink hopefully.

“Not just yet,” John raises his eyebrows, “sit down, you have _a lot_ of explaining to do.”


End file.
